The blood pulsed.
It ran along the walls in veins of red light, moving with a pulse that was almost human. Almost alive. The relic-machine—half forgotten, half worshipped—dimd as Kiro stepped back from it. His hands twitched, energy coiling through his veins like wildfire in oil.
Sanguine Bloom.
The skill had etched itself into him—violently. He could still feel where the thorns had grown beneath his skin, ready to burst from muscle and marrow with a single thought.
Around him, the bunker stirred.
The rebels, no longer just survivors, looked at him with a different fear now. The awe of soone they had whispered about, doubted, mythologized—becoming sothing real. Sothing unstoppable.
Kiro turned to them, red light glinting in his eyes. His voice was low. Commanding.
"The Spire's been evacuated. The Empire left this planet to burn. But if we move now, we can still get off-world."
"Get off-world with what?" asked a scarred woman leaning against the terminal. "The ports are locked down. Every airpath's sealed. They're not leaving anything behind but fire."
Kiro glanced upward. Sowhere above, the sky was being torn open by orbiting weapons. The World Eater wasn't a taphor. It was coming.
"Then we don't leave with their permission," he said. "We steal it."
He walked to the edge of the bunker, pulling the half-torn map from a rusted rack. His finger traced toward one location, just beyond the military district's ruins.
"The Kargal left behind a Forward Extraction Skiff. Unmarked. Probably missed during their retreat. It's damaged, but flyable."
"You want to steal a Kargal skiff?" the rebel said. "That's suicide."
Kiro looked over his shoulder. His aura flared—low and pulsing like a predator's breath.
"No. Staying is suicide."
[Sky Above Velmora – Imperial Exodus]
The El'Vertigo flagship tore across the stratosphere, leading the final wave of Kargal vessels out of orbit. Its silver body shimred with void shielding, command towers bristling with anti-debris cannons.
Inside, Kavo El'Vertigo watched the curvature of Velmora shrink on the main viewport.
"Planetfall clearance confird," said a pilot. "ETA for World Eater impact: six hours."
Kavo didn't answer. His fingers hovered above the command console, slowly tightening into a fist. Behind him, diplomats whispered, calculating how many native witnesses might survive, how many stories might spread.
"We'll cleanse it all," Kavo murmured. "Let the history books wonder what Velmora was."
He closed his eyes.
Let Pablo learn it the hard way.
[Velmora – Rebel Route, Lower Streets]
Kiro led the rebels through the wreckage of District 4, where ash still fell like snow. Bodies—both human and not—littered the ruins. Above them, the thunder of escaping starships echoed like a cruel reminder.
One of the younger rebels paused beside a collapsed statue.
"Do we even make it?" she asked. "I an, even if we get to that skiff... do we get out before the bomb hits?"
Kiro didn't answer.
He felt it.
The sky.
It was trembling. Not just from ships. Not just from orbital weapons.
From sothing deeper.
His Blood Core pulsed.
And far, far above—the cloudline cracked.
A dark, circular hole opened in the sky.
And through it... sothing began to bleed.
Not fire. Not debris.
Void.
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